You Call This A Commute?

I am on my first train ride home to Garrison. I expected crushing crowds. I mean, we go past the suburbs, right? Land of Cheever and yuppies and thousands of houses in tightly knit neighborhood?

Well, I guess there are fewer people in the suburbs than in Brooklyn, because this commute has been peaceful, dignified and downright pleasant. Having the mighty Hudson unspooling to my left is just a ridiculous bonus—five minutes out of Grand Central and I am immediately accompanied by the very body of water that led me to my new home.

And I feel at home already. Even though my house? Well, that’s another story, being written by the banks. Or the bank, I should say: my buyers’ bank. These real estate deals have been in the works for a long time, for my apartment, especially. The discussion of July 9 as a closing date, well documented. It wasn’t till July 8 that Bank of America finally started communicating about the close, and coming up with a fistful of reasons why the file wasn’t complete, why the co-op was to blame (not them, for asking for the proper paperwork so late), why a piece of paper that is typically handed over at closing (indemnification letter for an ancient sidewalk lien on my apartment building) suddenly was desperately required, in hand, immediately, in order for the bank to move forward at all.

So much to my dismay, it appears I will not be moving into my lovely house—that is waiting for me! waiting for me and my boy!—until the week after the BlogHer conference, three long weeks away.

Oh, and did I mention I already fully moved out of Brooklyn?More than a week ago?

The list of inconveniences is many. Not least being that when I packed for two weeks’ worth of being “in between”, I did not pack for BlogHer! Expect the same blue patterened tunic, people. I was devastated yesterday; I won’t lie. But today, my first day back at work in a while, since I worked from home all last week to help Zack get settled, it all feels more real.

I am doing this. I did this. I have chosen a different kind of life, and now I get to live it. With the rolling, mighty Hudson as my constant reminder that life is glorious and great.

About stacy

I am a writer, author, mother, former magazine editor (last at Redbook), optimist, and, above all, a searcher. I'm still searching for whom I'm really meant to be, after a series of very jarring losses: a divorce and house disaster that led to a book (Falling Apart In One Piece); a week after the book came out, my parents suddenly fell gravely ill, I resigned from my job (and, apparently, my career), my son went into crisis, my parents then rapidly died four weeks apart, and my boyfriend (who had moved in with me and my son just weeks before the book came out) began the painful journey of realizing we couldn't make our relationship work (that story unfolded on this blog). Since then I've been trying to figure out what's next. Or, in other words, how to fill in the blanks.

3 Responses to You Call This A Commute?

Congratulations!! I am heartbroken that I won’t be meeting you at BlogHer but I hope we’ll make that happen this year somehow … sending lots of love. I love your observation about the Hudson running alongside you as you head home. xox

Moving is such a grand, glorious experience–even when it is full of bumps. Maybe because of the bumps? Such highs and lows, such promise and expectation and hope–similar in so many ways to having a baby. Not surprising, I suppose, when what you’re really doing is birthing a new life. We all know that doesn’t happen without labor pains, right? You are almost there…just focus on that river and breathe!